Daddy Wanted

by Wylde, Tara

  I turn my back on the security guard, who’s looking at us like a pack of hillbillies invading a society ball, take a deep breath, and shut them all down with a hair-raising seagull shriek .

  “Aw, Mommy! ” Joey claps his hands over his ears .

  Katie stares at me, round-eyed. “So, like, if we go out for lunch after, are you going to steal my fries ?”

  “Yep. So you’d better watch out .”

  She smirks. “Hope you like vinegar and mayonnaise.” And just like that, she’s flouncing off, an adoring Joey in tow .

  Nick’s watching them fondly. “Y’know, she hasn’t checked her phone once since we’ve been here .”

  “Joey’s not even at that age yet, and he already knows how to take mine and look things up on YouTube .”

  “Oh? What does he look for ?”

  “Spongebob Squarepants. Cat videos.” I grimace. “Farts .”

  “Farts? ” Nick covers his mouth, but I can still hear him laughing through his nose. “Sorry—I know that’s not great. But if I’d got my hands on a phone at his age, I can’t say I wouldn’t have looked them up too .”

  “Can’t even imagine having one, at that age.” I really can’t—when I was Joe’s age, the hot toy was the Gameboy. And whenever I’d try begging for one, Vanya’d shoo me out in the yard to do “real kid stuff.” He and Mama had just moved in together, but he was never shy about playing dad .

  Nick seems like a good father, too—the kind I’d want Joey to have. It’s way too early to be thinking along those lines, but ....

  He pokes me in the ribs. “Where’d you go ?”

  “Mm?”

  “You were like—“ He taps his temple and stares off into space. “Pondering the mysteries of the universe .”

  I feel myself turning a little red. I can’t possibly tell him what I was really thinking. “Oh, uh... Just thinking about when I was his age. Vanya wouldn’t let me have a Gameboy .”

  “Wait, the same guy who just married your mother last year?” Nick cocks his head. “What’s the story there ?”

  I pounce eagerly on the diversion. “Oh, they’ve been together half a lifetime. But as far as marriage went, well, at first it was too soon. Dad was barely in his grave. I mean, it’d been a couple of years, but you know how people are. Especially with Vanya being his best friend. There would’ve been gossip. And after that... Honestly, I never asked. I think they just got comfortable .”

  Nick gives me another poke and nods toward the kids. “Check that out.” Katie’s down on one knee, fixing Joey’s hair, which has somehow gone from neatly-combed to bird’s nest explosion between the last exhibit and here. Joey’s voice drifts over: he’s asking her to be his new babysitter .

  “Looks like you just got replaced,” I say .

  “Oh, that hurts.” He claps a hand over his heart. “You know, I think this is the first time I’ve been fired from anything .”

  “First time’s always the worst .”

  Joey and Katie have found a display of trilobites. She’s trying to convince him they’re called that because they try to bite, but she can’t keep a straight face, and he’s having none of it. They both agree they have weird heads and look like aliens .

  “What are you doing for Christmas ?”

  Well, that came out of nowhere. “Oh, the usual—family, presents, food coma. No one ever told Mama stuff the goose, not your family. You ?”

  “Same, only the family part sort of fell through.” He frowns. “Katie’s grandparents, y’know, on her mom’s side, were supposed to come down, but her arthritis is flaring up. And her mom—well, she’s with Doctors without Borders. We don’t see a lot of her .”

  “How’s Katie taking that ?”

  “Hard to tell. She says she’s fine as long as she gets to go on her best friend’s New Year’s ski trip, but... Doesn’t that seem sort of...un-Christmassy to you ?”

  “Well, at least it’s a winter sport.” He’s right, though: you can go skiing any time there’s snow. Christmas is meant to be special. “That reminds me of something we used to do in our neighborhood—not sure if they still do, but it was a big deal when I was growing up .”

  “Oh, yeah ?”

  “Mm... They’d round up all the pensioners with nobody left alive to remember them, and all the kids whose families were—who couldn’t afford much of a Christmas. And they’d rent a hall, throw this massive banquet, with all the trimmings. The kids got new coats, a toy or two; the old folks... Well, honestly, more than a few of them got drunk. Someone always snuck in a flask. But the idea was for them to have the next best thing to a family holiday, even if they didn’t have anyone .”

  Nick looks thoughtful. “We deliver a ton of food to people like that. Through the food pantry, I mean. Old people living alone.” He’s watching Joey and Katie with a faraway look on his face. “I did a lot of the holiday deliveries last year. Some of them... It broke my heart. Their faces lit up when they saw the Christmas extras in their boxes... But they didn’t have a single decoration up. Like they couldn’t see the point, just for themselves .”

  “I wouldn’t, either, if it wasn’t for Joey. Not having anyone to share it with—I wouldn’t want to be reminded. Wouldn’t want to look at the decorations, and think....” I swallow hard. There’s suddenly a lump in my throat .

  “The families with kids are just as hard—some of them are struggling so bad....” Nick turns to me. “We should do your neighborhood thing. Through the food pantry. I mean, they all come in there—the old people, the kids, the families. It’d just be a matter of getting them together. We could do a neighborhood party for each location.” He clears his throat. “If you want to, I mean. Sorry—I get carried away sometimes when I get an idea. Not sure if you have time, or — “

  “I have time.” I really don’t. But I love the idea. And, hell, he should do it. This is what he’s truly passionate about. He should get to see the smiles he puts on people’s faces for once. If I can help with that —

  Joey runs up, tripping over his shoelace and catapulting into my arms. I catch him neatly. “Hey. No running .”

  “Sorry! But I wanna show you—“ He straightens up and holds out his hand, an expression of intense concentration on his face. I watch him walk a quarter over his knuckles—well, sort of. He helps it along with his thumb, and it falls off halfway through, but it’s still pretty impressive for a kid with tiny hands .

  “Katie show you that ?”

  “Yeah. And she let me keep the quarter .”

  “You remember to say thanks ?”

  He takes his time thinking about that. “I think so. Maybe? I forget .”

  “Well, you’d better go back over there and make sure. But first—“ I bend down and retie his shoe. He knows how to do it himself, but he does a crappy job. I don’t want his memory of this afternoon ruined by skinned knees or a bumped head .

  The afternoon does end up perfect: we stop for a late lunch/early dinner after the museum, and Nick offers to drop Joey home with Maria, so I won’t have to do the usual mad rush for work. It’s so perfect it’s almost... I don’t know. Too perfect ?

  A chill goes down my spine as we stand beside his car saying our goodbyes. I glance around: nothing’s threatening, nothing’s out of place, but I can’t quite shake that sense of dread. On impulse, I snatch my lipstick out of my purse, flip it open, and apply a tiny smear to Nick’s cuff. He cocks a brow. “What was that for ?”

  “Okay—don’t laugh. It’s just... You know on TV, when two people share this incredible day, and you just know one or both of them’s about to be written off the show in a horrifying way ?”

  “Oh, yeah—like, that impossibly beautiful, sugar-crusted moment, where they’re saying the perfect goodbye, without a clue that’s what they’re doing ?”

  “Exactly.” I take my thumb and smear the lipstick around. “So I’m making our goodbye that tiny bit shitty, so this won’t be the part where we kiss and never see each other again .”r />
  “Don’t even say that.” He leans in and kisses me and doesn’t let go till we hear wolf-whistles. We’re both slightly flushed when he lets go. “Even if you stepped back and fell into a manhole that went all the way to hell, I’d be like Orpheus, rescuing you from the underworld .”

  I can’t quite shake that uneasy feeling. “That story didn’t end well .”

  He pulls me close again, kisses me on my forehead, both cheeks, and the tip of my nose. “This one will.” He presses even closer, to whisper in my ear. “Your cruel master wouldn’t let you vanish into the pit .”

  That gives me a whole different kind of frisson. I smile, relieved, and in that moment, the sun breaks through the clouds. My anxiety seems foolish in the warm, bright light. That chill down my spine—cold, and nothing more. I’m just doing that thing I do, where I freak out over stuff that hasn’t happened yet, and probably never will .

  When he gives me a last lingering hug, a smudge of lipstick transfers itself from his cuff to my shirt. I choose to take that as a sign everything’s going to be fine .

  Chapter Nineteen

  N ick

  The call comes in just after three, two days after our museum date. I’m out of breath, fresh from the gym, and my “Hello?” comes out more forceful than intended .

  “H-hello?” It’s a nervous female voice—one I don’t recognize. “Is that Nick Carter ?”

  “Yes, it is .”

  “And, uh... Are you the Nick Carter who knows Joey Petrov’s mom? Elina Petrova ?”

  I almost trip over my own feet. My gym bag hits the ground. “Yes—who’s this ?”

  “Oh, thank God—you’re the ninth Nick Carter I’ve tried! I was starting to think—uh, sorry!” I hear fast, panicked breathing on the other end. “It’s just, Miss Petrova was supposed to pick Joey up from preschool three hours ago, and no one can reach her. Mrs. Dz—Dzoh—ah...her emergency contact said she’d been seeing a lot of you, so I thought you might’ve seen her .”

  I flash back to our last goodbye. But...she wrecked my shirt. She can’t have— What am I thinking? There’s no jinx. Everything’s fine. She’s stuck in traffic. Her phone’s dead. We’ll see each other tonight, and laugh our asses off at how for one terrible moment, I thought ....

  No. I’m not even putting words to it .

  “I haven’t seen her,” I say. Something else occurs to me: “Is anyone coming for Joey ?”

  “His grandpa’s on his way .”

  Okay. Okay—that’s good, at least. “And... Has anyone called the cops ?”

  “The cops ?”

  “Yeah. It’s probably nothing, but she has an ex, kind of a stalker type. I don’t know if he’s dangerous, but I’d say it’s at least worth having them swing by and check on him. Just in case.” What the fuck was his full, real name? She told me—it was— “It’s Giuseppe Bentivoglio, but he goes by Joe .”

  “Oh...oh, yeah. He’s on our no-pickup list. I’ll do that. I’ll call right now. Thanks .”

  “Sure. Let me know if you hear anything, or if there’s a problem with Joey being picked up. My phone’s always on .”

  I hang up the phone and pick up my gym bag. And stand there, feet rooted to the ground: where was I going? I glance at my watch, as if I’ll find the answer there. Three hours—it’s only been three hours. A lot of things can make a person three hours late, but... Damned if I can think of many that would also prevent a “Hey, I’m running late!” call. Lina’s not the type to drop the ball when it comes to her kid .

  Her kid—that’s right. Katie. I was picking her up from school. She’s got that piano exam. Or—no. That’s next week. Today... We’re getting her a new winter coat. Because I bumped an open bottle of nail polish onto her warmest one. I toss my bag in the back seat and get going, before I wind up leaving my own kid hanging .

  My phone doesn’t ring all the way to Katie’s school. It keeps right on not ringing through store after store, rack after rack of coats that don’t meet Katie’s standards. By the time she’s settled on a flared red wool thing that strikes me as way too sophisticated for a nine-year-old, it’s five o’clock and I’m seriously starting to worry .

  Maybe the playgroup lady forgot to mention she’d called me. Maybe Lina’s back in the arms of her family, having rich Russian snacks with Vanya and Joe .

  Katie’s busy checking out fuzzy mittens, so I give her a try. Straight to voicemail. I hang up and text her instead: hey, you ok? joe’s teacher was looking for you. ended up calling me .

  I watch the screen, but no little dots pop up to indicate she’s typing .

  “Dad, can I get these?” Katie plops a pair of black cashmere mitts directly onto my phone. I rub them between my fingers: nice and soft .

  “Yeah, go ahead.” I look her up and down—anything missing? Can’t tell. “Need anything else? Boots? Earmuffs ?”

  “Ew, so dorky ! ”

  “What?”

  “Earmuffs.” She wrinkles her nose. “Can we get avocado melts ?”

  “Yeah—yeah, just... At least pick out a hat first.” I don’t want her out there with nothing on her head when the cold settles in .

  “I have a million hats.” She gives me a funny look. “What’s the matter with you? You’re, like, glued to your phone. Did that lady from the museum ghost you ?”

  “No, she didn’t ghost me.” At least, I don’t think she did .

  “Keep telling yourself that, Dad .”

  “Hey, c’mon—it’s not nice to mock people’s suffering.” I can’t help but check my phone one more time. Katie treats me to a theatrical eyeroll. I resolve to quit looking at my phone, at least till we’ve eaten. What is it they say about a watched kettle? Probably applies to phones, too .

  Halfway through our avocado melts, my phone finally rings. I snatch it to my ear so fast I don’t even have time to check who’s calling .

  “Hello?”

  “Ah...yes. Hello.” It’s a man on the other end—a man with a thick Russian accent. Shit. No chance this is good news. “Yes: this is Ivan Vasiliev—Vanya. Lina’s father. I, ah...I am told you are friends with her ?”

  “Yeah. Yeah—is she all right ?”

  There’s a lot of noise in the background—people shouting, milling around. None of it sounds good. “We’re at the police station, her mother and I. They’re not listening to us. Lina doesn’t do this. She never is late. So I’m asking, anything you know—anything she’s said—she was with you this morning ?”

  “No, not this morning. We had plans for tonight, but I haven’t heard from her since yesterday.” I look up. Katie’s stopped eating. I swivel in my seat to hide the expression on my face. “You want me to come down there? Maybe I can talk to them, or — “

  He cuts me off with a forceful tchah sound. “No use. They say, well, she’s adult—we have to wait a whole day. Adults don’t have parents who worry? Agh!” He hangs up on me. Can’t blame him: he’s got enough on his plate. I blow out a long breath .

  “Dad? What’s going on ?”

  “I’m....” How much do I tell her? “I’m not entirely sure.” I force a smile. “Probably nothing. Lina’s just running a little late, and her dad wanted to know if she was with us .”

  Katie’s face falls. “Sorry for making fun of you earlier.” She pushes her pickle toward me like a peace offering. “Here. I know you like her. I liked her too .”

  “I’m sure everything’s fine,” I say, as much for my benefit as Katie’s .

  But the evening wears on, and nobody calls or texts. Midnight comes and goes. I check and recheck my phone more times than I can count, but the battery’s always charged; the ringer’s always on. I haven’t missed so much as a Facebook alert .

  Some time between the wee hours and the ass crack of dawn, I give up on sleep. It’s no use: every time I start drifting off, I swear I feel my phone vibrate next to my pillow, and I’m back on high alert. I give in and fire off another text: you end up getting home ok? hope I’m not waking you !
:-)

  This time, she starts typing right away. Relief floods over me, so powerful my head swims. And then... It stops. I wait thirty seconds, a minute. It doesn’t start again .

  I’m getting a sick feeling about this .

  I know you’re there. I saw you typing . ;-)

  Nothing.

  listen, if I did something wrong, if you don’t want to talk to me, fine. just tell me you’re ok .

  This time, the reply’s almost instant. I stare, stunned .

  take a hint bernie madoff scum

  ure yesterdays news

  bubye

  Bernie Madoff... What ?

  who the fuck is this? Whoever it is, they’re not even trying to type like her .

  who the fuck you think ?

  A strange, grim calm settles over me. This fucker wants to play? I’ll make sure texting me back is the worst mistake he ever makes. I switch over to my laptop to reply .

  I know who you are .

  I know WHERE you are .

  tap to see how .

  I drum my fingers on my leg. This guy seems like a class-A dumbass, but there’s a chance he at least knows not to download anything from an unknown sender. Almost a minute ticks by, and—hallelujah! Bait taken. I’m definitely talking to a moron .

  He keeps texting, mocking me for sending him a broken file, while I wait for the malware to finish installing itself. I’m on a weird kind of high, hopped up on exhaustion and adrenaline. Got a song in my head—Rat in the Kitchen. I’m tapping my foot to the rhythm, singing off-key. Feels like a screw’s come loose in my head .

  An alert from my laptop snaps me out of my fugue. Two clicks later, I’m looking at Lina’s phone interface. Activating the camera doesn’t help much. All I can see is someone I recognize from the news stories as Joe Bentivoglio pecking at the screen, no doubt peppering me with abuse. BFD; already knew it was him. I take a screenshot anyway, while I wait for him to put down the phone. The second he does, I navigate to the GPS. Elsinboro—what the hell’s out there? I screenshot that, too, archive her phone to my laptop, and shut down the connection .